“We control the aid packages the Indonesians are going to need for recovery,” the Secretary of State replied. “That will give us a degree of leverage. Beyond that, Kediri had the hell scared
out of him. Scared men are sometimes willing to change.”
“We can hope.”
“It’s like the bottom of Pandora’s box, sir. There’s always hope.”
“That’s the only thing that keeps me sane in this insanity, Harry.” President Childress reached for the other half of his biscuit, wondering if the
First Lady might catch him sneaking an illicit spoonful of honey. “What else do we have to worry about?”
“The Aegean, Mr. President. Greece and Turkey. This time, I think they mean it.”
Weh Island
The western approaches to the Straits of Malacca
1815 Hours; Zone Time, November 23, 2008
“I insisted on doing this myself, Major Quillain,” Amanda said, deftly pinning the bronze oak leaves to the collar of Stone’s khaki uniform shirt. “And this as well.” She came up onto her toes and lightly touched the big Marine’s cheek with her lips.
The newly promoted commander of the Sea Demon force actually blushed under his
tan. “Well, I sure as hell would rather you do it than the Admiral. No disrespect
intended, sir.”
Laughter rang in the main salon and every officer gathered there – Navy, Marine, Air Force and Army – applauded. So did Amanda as she stepped back, allowing MacIntyre and the others to press close with their barrage of handshakes and shoulder slaps.
More than one mission was ending. The quest to make this radical thing called Phantom Force a cohesive, effective whole had succeeded as well. Bonds had been built over these past few weeks and this evening’s wingding in honor of Quillain’s cleared promotion would be another brick cemented into place.
A dream that Amanda had committed to paper as an intellectual exercise had suddenly and unexpectedly become reality, sweeping its dreamer into a new adventure.
Dreams have a way of doing that. It had happened to her more than once of late.
Suddenly, Amanda found that she needed a little of that time to herself that she intermittently required. Easing around the perimeter of the group in the salon, she slipped out of the boat deck hatch.
Her ship was chasing the sinking sun into a flame-colored horizon. Weh Island was drifting past to port, the last outrider of the Indonesian archipelago. Ahead lay the open reaches of the Indian Ocean and Diego Garcia.
Within a few days, the commando carrier USS Shenandoah would creep back into her cocoon for maintenance and replenishment, and the elements of her air group and Sea Demon force would disperse to their training bases around the world.
As for the merchant ship Galaxy Shenandoah, she would cruise the data streams of the world’s infonets as a falsified set of shipping documents here or a bribed harbor master there. Like the mythical US navy man of war, the USS Tuscarora, she would be the ship that inevitably had just sailed yesterday or that wasn’t due in until next week.
Until there was a need.
Captain Amanda Lee Garrett leaned against the rail and found that she was supremely content. Her life had taken a number of radical new turns and, now that she had a moment to contemplate, she found that she approved of them all.
She had a ship to command and she had the promise of the Admiral’s stars that had seemed so elusive. An old lover had made the delicate transition to dear friend and an old friend had made the equally delicate transition to dear lover.
She had the rich promise of a new personal life to explore, one that might give her a taste of the roots and the home she had so long been forced to deny herself.
Someone coming to lean beside her brought her back to herself.
“Sherry and soda, correct?” Elliot MacIntyre inquired, passing her a slender glass.
“Correct,” she smiled back, taking an appreciative sip. “Mmm, that is good. I know that having a wine mess aboard is hideously decadent
and un-navy-like – and that Josephus Daniels is no doubt turning over in his grave – but frankly, I don’t give a damn.”
MacIntyre took a pull from his own bottle of Tsingtao. “The old Royal Navy fought two World Wars with ‘wet’ ships and no one ever accused them of being sissies.”
“Very true. The world and the Defense Department are just going to have to accept
that we do things a little differently aboard the Shenandoah.”
“Granted.” MacIntyre grunted an acknowledgement around another drink of beer. “What are your plans after we dock in Diego?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Amanda replied. “I’ve got post-mission analysis to do. There’s some fine-tuning that needs to be done with the ship, the Sea Demons and the
air group. I can see right now we’re going to need more long-range anti-shipping capacity aboard. And more area
anti-air. I’ve got some ideas about how we can pull that off without too many structural
modifications.”
“When’s the last time you took a real leave, Amanda?” MacIntyre interrupted.
“Leave?” She had to think about it for a moment. “I suppose it was last year, just before the Sea Fighters went aboard the Carlson. Yes, I guess it was a little over a year ago.”
“Then you’re way past due. When we get back to Diego Garcia, you will stand down and use
that accumulated leave time.” He cut off her protest. “You may consider that an order, Captain. I do not need a burned-out officer
commanding the flag ship of NAVSPECFORCE.”
“As you wish, sir,” she replied. “And I guess it would be nice to spend Christmas in Norfolk with Dad. He’s heard some rather conflicting stories about me lately.”
MacIntyre looked toward the darkening horizon astern. “And maybe you could spend a few days in Hawaii on your way back,” he said carefully.
“That would be nice too. We could discuss the Shenandoah’s modifications package … among other things.”
They exchanged wry looks and Amanda leaned closer, so their shoulders barely brushed. It was going to be very different for both of them. But maybe it was time to be different.
They stood quietly for a time. watching the evening settle over the ever-lengthening wake.
“What do you think, Amanda?” MacIntyre said finally. “You did know him better than any of us. Do you think he really did go into the
screws?”
She shook her head. “No, the Old Gods of the East Indies would never allow him to die such a plebian
death. He’s still out there, Elliot. He’s out there somewhere with his sea people and his Morning Stars and his salted
away millions. By now, he probably also has a plan. We, the world and President
Kediri have not heard the end of Makara Harconan.” Amanda looked curiously at her lover. “Does that bother you a little?”
MacIntyre’s strong weathered features went thoughtful for a long minute. Then a glint of humor invaded his dark eyes. “No,” he said finally. “No, by God, it doesn’t. If the seven seas are to stay the seven seas, there’s got to be at least one buccaneer left to sail ‘on the account’.” MacIntyre lifted his drink in salute. “To the Raja Samudra.”
